


Leslie Vann Is Not A Cat Person

by Geekhyena



Category: Lock In - John Scalzi
Genre: Banter, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Gen, Just Add Kittens, suspiciously specific denials ahoy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-12
Updated: 2018-12-12
Packaged: 2019-09-17 04:30:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16967703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Geekhyena/pseuds/Geekhyena
Summary: Leslie Vann is not a cat person. Really. She swears.





	Leslie Vann Is Not A Cat Person

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Satchelfoot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Satchelfoot/gifts).



> Thanks very much to Swatibee for the beta, and to Phnelt for letting me bounce ideas. If there are any mistakes re the FBI in this fic, they are 100% mine - all my FBI knowledge comes from Scalzi’s books and Leverage.

Happy Yuletide, Satchelfoot!

 

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“I’m not keeping the kitten.”

“But look Vann, it likes you! It won’t leave your shoulder!” I replied, trying not to laugh.

“Probably because it hasn’t figured out how to climb a threep. I don’t get why it’s not in your lap already, you’re the animal magnet,” said Vann, looking out the window briefly toward the back entrance of the hotel.

“I am not an animal magnet,” I replied.

Vann made a cough that suspiciously sounded like the word “bullshit”, which turned into a “fuck!” as the kitten clung tighter to her shoulder, digging its claws in deeper. “Seriously, first it was that cat in the Chapman case, then it was helping those Girl Scouts rescue a stuck kitten, then there was that emu that decided it was your Best Friend after we busted that lobbyist with the weird menagerie out in Maryland, that made front page news, and so did those dogs….”

She was right. For some reason any time we worked a case that had animals involved, I seemed to register as a safe person to them. The photo in the Washington Post of me covered in dogs rescued from a dogfighting ring in the DC suburbs had made national news, and thoroughly torpedoed the career of the congressman funding the ring, but it hadn’t exactly helped my reputation at the Bureau. Even my mother had started to make jokes about it.

It also made it rather interesting that ever since we’d found it sniffing around a dumpster during a stakeout, this tiny ball of grey and white fluff had glued itself to Vann and refused to be dislodged. I had tried to pick it up, but the moment I let it have any space it returned to Vann. It was pretty funny, honestly, and we were on hour five of what was quite frankly a boring stakeout, smack-dab in the middle the worst cold snap the DC area had had in ages.

Vann and I felt it was best to stay in the car, for practical and personal reasons. The alley off of the hotel’s back parking lot and loading area gave us a good vantage point on the exit our target was likely to come out of, and a moderately beat-up Honda was inconspicuous in this kind of neighborhood. When you factored in that my threep, while well-made, didn’t exactly have the best traction on icy surfaces, the stakeout car provided by the Bureau was camouflage as well as keeping us warm. Neither of us had wanted to leave a barely-weaned kitten alone in such weather, especially not with a storm in the weather report for tomorrow, so here we sat.

“I told you during the Chapman case - cats are demanding, they mess with your stuff, and then they steal your pizza off the counter and barf pepperoni on your couch,” grumbled Vann. She shifted her head and the cat used that opportunity to bat at her hair again. Vann pretended not to notice but her mouth shifted ever so slightly.

“And like I said then, you seem suspiciously knowledgeable about cats,” I said.

“Why can’t you take it home?”

“Because we already have three animals in the household, and that’s the lease’s limit on pets.” Shortly after the incident with Donut the cat, the twins had suggested we get a pet. They had really outdone themselves - a half-hour presentation on why a pet would be a good addition, estimated costs of different kinds of pets, and the fees and hours of local animal shelters. Elise had agreed almost instantly - turns out she'd grown up with dogs and cats, so she was fine with either. Tony had reiterated he wasn’t a dog person, but if something that didn’t shed and wasn’t yappy could be found, he was amenable. Tayla had said she was a big dog person but agreed cats were fine by her, as long as we all agreed on them and taking care of them was added to the usual chore rota. 

Our visit to the animal shelter recommended by Tayla’s colleague who was a vet proved to be unexpectedly fruitful - not only had we come home with Thor, the world’s calmest standard poodle, but also Parker, a scrawny tabby who learned how to open cupboards on her first day, and Sophie, a Himalayan who genuinely believed we were here to worship her, and who the twins enjoyed dressing up in cute outfits. Sophie didn’t seem to mind - the rest of us were of the opinion that the cat knew it meant extra attention and put up with it because of the size of her ego. The dog and cats got along well, mostly because Thor accepted that the cats ruled the roost. It was nice having pets around when I needed a break, but it also meant we were at our limit. “Heck, most places in DC just allow one pet, we got lucky. And before you ask, no, my parents can’t, either. Mom’s allergic.”

“You don’t even know if my lease allows cats.” Our guy still hadn’t appeared, but the kitten had begun to knead Vann’s shoulder and was affectionately headbutting her neck. I was glad I was recording this - it was pretty adorable. I pretended not to notice the way Vann’s mouth twitched, suppressing a smile.

“I know your address, I know the building was built within the last decade, which means that it probably follows the D.C. Model Lease Agreement format set out after the zoning laws changed,” I said. “ Which means that it likely allows at least one pet under 50lbs.”

“So how long are we supposed to wait here, anyway?” Vann asked, looking out the window at the back exit of the hotel.

“From what I could get from his public schedule, Mayor Rush is speaking at a fundraiser in another three hours, and it hasn’t been cancelled because of the weather. We know he’s in there, and this is the least obtrusive exit. Given all the fundraising he’s here to do, he’s trying to be inconspicuous, so he won’t want to use the front entrance, and factoring in travel time, he needs to leave in the next hour or he won’t make it.” I checked my news feed - the event hadn’t been cancelled yet. He was scheduled to speak on making Nashville a center for medical as well as musical tourism - those kind of talks brought in the big donors, and he wouldn’t cancel it unless the roads were impossible.

The mayor of Nashville had been gearing up for a senate run, but his campaign finances had drawn scrutiny after a tipoff from a staffer led to the local FBI and FEC investigating his campaign. The Memphis office found that not only were there some suspicious donations from foreign real-estate groups, but that some of the money had been going to pay a lawyer in Virginia. We knew that they were meeting in person today, and digging deeper into Ryan Rush’s past revealed that his time in law school had involved just as much partying as it did studying. While it was a joint effort with the FEC, and our counterparts had been doing plenty of digging and footwork of their own, Vann and I wound up getting stakeout duty. Odds were that he’d been funneling campaign funds to keep someone quiet. We were here to put a stop to that.

We waited in the car as it began to rain freezing rain outside, much to our dismay. Even if we did catch him today, driving back would be a bear, and my traction outside would be even more reduced. Even a higher-end threep like mine only had enough traction for normal conditions, and it’s not like DC got freezing rain very often. Until now, it hadn’t been a concern, and since the rain wasn’t supposed to start until this evening, renting a more rugged threep hadn’t seemed worth it, even if there was one to be found locally.

Vann kept trying not to smile as the kitten curled up on her shoulder, purring loudly. I kept pretending not to notice. It was hard to tell under the dirt, but it looked like it might be a sort of muted tuxedo - gray and white instead of black and white, with piercing green eyes and ears entirely too large for its head. It couldn’t have been much past weaning, and it looked entirely incongruous against Vann’s jacket. It was adorable.

“Is that our guy?” Vann asked, peering out the windshield. She paused for a closer look, then flung open the door. “It’s him. Let’s go.”

I got out of my side of the car as she slid out of the Honda, the cat miraculously staying put on her shoulder as her sensible boots ate up the distance between her and our target. I skidded a bit on the ice until I found my footing, but Vann had no such issues.

“Mayor Rush?” I asked, displaying my badge on my chest display. “Agent Shane, FBI, we have a few questions for -” What I was about to say was cut off as the mayor ran for it, trying to duck past me and Vann and toward the only other exit from the back parking lot. Unfortunately for him, his Oxfords didn’t handle the ice as well as Vann’s boots, and as he tried to duck past her, he skidded and went flying, landing awkwardly on the mix of ice and ice-covered slush carpeting the parking lot. I heard him curse as his ankle hit the ground - that didn’t sound pretty. Vann stood right next to him, making it clear that it wasn’t in his best interests to try and run again.

“Ryan Rush, I am Agent Vann of the FBI. You are under arrest for misappropriation of campaign funds, soliciting campaign contributions from foreign agents, and violating federal campaign finance laws.” As Vann continued to read him his rights, I called for some EMTs to see to his ankle before we moved him, and let the office know we had him. Amazingly, the kitten had remained attached to Vann’s shoulder the entire time, and was now standing proudly, tail upright and fully fluffed, as Vann made it clear to Mayor Rush exactly how much trouble he was in.

The headline of the Post the next day read **RUSH’S RUN FUMBLED, FOILED BY FEDS AND A FELINE**. This time, Vann was the one on the front page, the kitten still perched on Vann’s shoulder. Our coworkers started making jokes about our newest partner, and Vann decided that since the kitten hadn’t left her shoulder through the whole process of arresting the mayor, the kitten had earned its keep for now. She named it Spot, for reasons she refused to disclose, and when I stopped by her apartment with a bag of catnip toys and a miniature FBI vest for the kitten, she laughed, took the toys, and told me never to stop by her apartment again unless something was on fire.


End file.
